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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460654">Yours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wond0rful/pseuds/wond0rful'>wond0rful</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:02:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wond0rful/pseuds/wond0rful</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A love birthed, lost, and found. DMHG.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It started out as a drabble but I wanted to make this into a short fanfic. Again, this is a short introspective thought process in Draco's perspective of waking up to a reality that he cannot have what he wants for once. Also heavily inspired by Attica's This is How You Lose Her fanfic because her writing is just so beautiful that I am floored every time I read it. Her craftsmanship with the written word is something I can only aspire to.</p><p>I urge everyone to listen to Reverie by Isaac Gracie or Oceans by Seafret when you read this! It’s a masterpiece of a song and something I feel is so perfect a backdrop for this one-shot.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is how you lose her.</p><p>In the deafening silence. In the stillness of the night. A million light-years apart in the inches of space between your bodies.</p><p>All is fair in love and war, they say. But seeing her face under the moonlight, her eyelashes crafting silhouettes on her cheeks, you think, <em>"She is a different kind of war."</em> The kind you'd lose a limb for, the kind of war that shatters you—the kind you'd want to win.</p><p>But every war eventually has its finale. And while the moon walks its own path, as does the sun. The night eventually bleeds into day and you know with a certainty that startles you, this cannot last. So you watch as closely as you can, like a man starved, the way the beginning of sunrise is painted on her face. You burn the image of each freckle on her face into memory; the curve of her jaw and the line of her nose; you trace with your eyes each dip and crevice of her torso. You memorize the feeling of her body against yours.</p><p>Funny what the world has come to, you realize. Her: Hermione Granger, golden girl and smartest witch of your generation; deeply asleep and showing a vulnerability you're sure others have never been privy to. You: Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater, a pariah, and a lost cause all the same; impeccably besotted, fool that you are. Together, in a bed far too large, inches apart; light and dark–-a running theme for all of your lives. You wonder how this ever came to be.</p><p>But then, you are reminded of the very first time you stood toe to toe with Hermione Granger in the hallways of your shared department floor. Her wand brandished against your throat, her eyes blazing with indignation and fire and so much–so, so much that you are silenced by her intensity.</p><p><em>“Who do you think you are showing your face around here?” </em>Her voice was loud, quivering with the years of things she couldn’t say. You remember her face back then and the way the horrid and too-bright lights of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement hit her face just at the right angle. Her brown eyes looked startlingly golden.</p><p>It was like seeing Hermione Granger for the first time. And she was breathtaking.</p><p>Oh, you were just truly hopeless then. Hopeless against the whirlwind, the force of nature, the terrifyingly beautiful woman that she is.</p><p>And woe is Draco Malfoy, the man who had nothing of value to offer a woman like her—the man who foolishly, fervently even, thought that the fire he'd ignited inside her–<em>with her</em>–was enough. Because it isn't. It never was and it never will.</p><p><em>This will not last</em>, you tell yourself a second time.</p><p>She looks at you the moment she awakens; and even with the vestiges of sleep evident on her face, her gaze is far too knowing as if your thoughts are like neon signs in the dark. She reaches for you and touches your face feather-light. Her eyes are searching yours, a question neither of you could speak of even in the dark is hanging in the air.</p><p>The silence is thick with restless anticipation. And you suddenly wish you could bottle this moment to keep forever. When the time comes that you are drawing your last breath with no one to hold on to, you will think to remember this as a moment of impact, as time suspended in anticipation of an explosion. One that could have changed your life.</p><p>“Draco,” her voice is what you imagine velvet to sound like if it were possible. Only Hermione Granger could make your name sound like a prayer.</p><p>“I…I’m leaving in a few days for Australia. Do you…do you want to come with me?” The question makes you look at her.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, you want desperately to tell her. Yes, yes, yes. The answer is booming in your mind and the force by which you want to say it makes you feel like you’re bursting at the seams.</p><p>But like most of your life, your voice evades you in such opportune times. You are no Gryffindor. You are no Chosen One. You are simply Draco Malfoy, a boy trapped in a man's body. And she is Hermione Granger.</p><p>In this lifetime, and the others before or after, you will never earn the right to deserve her. You are nothing compared to the vastness and the fullness and the brightness that is Hermione Granger. She belongs to a world not welcome to you and you understand this more than you think she does. There is no place for you there.</p><p>You only kiss her. <em>One last time, </em>you think.</p><p>The moment of impact has passed. The ticking of the clock has resumed.</p><p><em>You're a coward</em>, you say to yourself.</p><p>You don’t see her but you know the disappointment is written on her face. You hear it in her sigh, heavy and loud. The <em>tap-tap</em> of her footsteps. The <em>clink</em> of a closed door.</p><p>And right when her warmth is no longer felt—you know this is when you lose her.</p><p>But, you admit in the privacy of your own mind and in the choking silence enveloping your room, you never really had her anyway.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Hermione Granger, the force that she was, had always been a constant figure in your periphery. From Hogwarts to the war to the way she would always be up in your face when you both worked at the same department. Every day was consumed by her presence.<br/><br/></p><p>You think of her sheer tenacity at making your life absolutely hell with all her indignance and righteousness. She loves to push and push and push—and <em>by gods</em>, did you love every bit of it. She makes you feel alive.<br/><br/></p><p>There is a particular memory of her that you will never forget though—it was the very first time you both started to acknowledge being friends. At this point in your odd cordial-but-also-not relationship, you’ve had more arguments with her than you can count. Though, at first, one or two had been full of vitriol given the history. But once you both realized that you actually agreed on a lot of things, the rest became friendly, intelligent banter. These conversations with her, no matter how short, were the only things you looked forward to each day. <br/><br/></p><p>It was during that blasted Ministry Valentine's ball that nobody really asked for yet wanted to attend all the same because it was going to be held at the elusive Malfoy Manor. Which your mother graciously accepted to host, of course.<br/><br/></p><p>The night was predictably and dreadfully boring that when Hermione Granger deigned to enter the hall that night, your eyes bulged in surprise. You’ve memorized the exact shade of red of her dress because you would replay that night more times than you can count in the coming days.<br/><br/></p><p>You would eventually blame it on the punch that was served at the party. Because by quarter past midnight, you swore that you were simply just wanting some air too when you followed her out into the gardens.</p><p><br/>You apologized to her that night. For everything. You apologized for Hogwarts, for the damning night at your drawing room, for your treatment of her, for having to testify for him, you apologized for all of it. You fumbled over your words like a bumbling idiot. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in your voice. If anything was redeemable in that horribly uncoordinated speech, it was the raw honesty that you couldn’t even try to hide. Perhaps she’d heard it too.</p><p><em><br/>“I’ve forgiven you for a long time now, Malfoy,”</em> she’d said, her touch on your arm heavy with the implication. At that time, you never fully recognized the relief and gratitude that come with forgiveness. But now you do because you cradle them carefully every day.<br/><br/></p><p>And for the first time in the history of you and her, she gave you one of those smiles that you know she’s reserved only for Potter and Weasley. The smile that you’ve always wondered if she’d ever show it to you too.<br/><br/></p><p>But then she did and everything started falling into place.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t think I’ve ever truly loved anyone before.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You look at her, smirking and feigning an air of haughtiness you know she hates.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh really, Granger? You not knowing what love feels like is like me not knowing how to style my hair. Simply impossible. You’re a Gryffindor with a bleeding heart for everything that so much as breathed.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shut up, Malfoy. That’s not what I meant, obviously!” She slaps your arm, huffs out such a melodious laugh, and you—you are enraptured. You don’t know when she became comfortable around you enough to do that but you’re grateful nonetheless.</em>
</p><p><em>“Well, what do you mean then?”</em><br/><br/>“I just meant that I want to know the kind of love that just feels so full. Like your chest is about to burst at the sheer magnitude of it. I want to feel that.”</p><p>
  <em>“Well, your idea of the perfect bloke to date is Weaselbee so I can understand why it’s never happened yet. Your taste in men is so disappointing I’m not even surprised anymore. ”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just sod off, Malfoy!” Her tone is light as she punches your arm playfully. </em>
</p><p>You know what it feels like of course. To love like you wanted to drown in it. That’s what she inspires in you.</p><p>You were a man parched and she doesn’t even know it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Love Letter to You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is when you realize you didn’t want to lose her.</p><p><br/>You can’t exactly recall when she started to matter so much until the startling loss of her made itself evident.</p><p><br/>You remember the suddenness of it. How she left your apartment that one night and never saw her again. <em>She left Britain</em>, you heard from the others in the department. <em>She went to go looking for her parents in Australia</em>. And you remember feeling so stricken and so unbearably unmoored.<br/><br/></p><p>In hindsight, when Hermione asked you to come with her that night, it didn’t occur to you that it had been your decision that mattered so much to her. She asked in hopes that you’d say yes. It was never meant to be a goodbye and it’s why she hadn’t said it at all.</p><p><br/>You think about how different life would have been if you’d only had the courage to tell her what you really wanted to say.</p><p><br/>But life goes on and you are still Draco Malfoy, a man who’s always been burdened with responsibilities and a name to uphold. You never had a choice when it comes to duty.</p><p><br/>You put your memories of her in the back of your mind, hoping that you will eventually forget the doll-like face you’ve come to love holding in your hands and the way her lips felt against yours.</p><p><br/>Though you never expected how regret could taste so bitter in your mouth.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>You are now 24 and a year has passed since Hermione Granger disappeared from your life. You are walking the grand halls of Malfoy Manor for the first time in a long time. It was a long overdue visit and so you enter the dining room with far more trepidation than you expected.<br/><br/></p><p>“Glad you could finally grace us with your presence, son.” Your father’s voice drips with that thinly-veiled tinge of disappointment that you have been growing more and more accustomed to each visit. Even in exile, Lucius Malfoy is still the ever imposing presence.<br/><br/></p><p>“I’ve been busy with work, Father,” you say as you sit down for dinner. You glance at your mother and startle at how she looks at you longingly—her eyes a stormy grey. You can’t help but feel the chasm between you and your parents acutely.<br/><br/></p><p>“You should be managing the estate already and not wasting time at a job that you don’t need. And there is also that matter of finding a suitable wife.”<br/><br/></p><p>It’s the exact conversation you don’t want to have because if you were being honest, you are sick of it.</p><p><br/>“Lucius, please…” Your mother plays mediator like she always does. And your father? Well, he never played by the rules anyway.<br/><br/></p><p>“I will make my decision to wed when I see it fit to do so, Father,” you keep your tone as cordial as you can manage but some of the resentment still shines through. “I am not a child.”</p><p><br/>“Precisely why I am reminding you of your impending responsibilities. You have a duty to this family. And frankly, I am growing tired of your independence, Draco. Do not forget your place.”<br/><br/></p><p>Your grip on your knife tightens.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>You write letters to her. Four hundred, thirty-seven of them to be exact. All of them which you never had the courage to send, anyway.<br/><br/></p><p>They are all variations of the same thing: <em>I miss you. I need you. I love you.<br/><br/></em></p><p>Sometimes you’d only manage a <em>hello</em>. Other times, it would get so embarrassingly long that you’d crumple it even before you’d finish it.</p><p><br/>By the four hundred thirty-eighth letter, you tear the paper apart and burn every single draft. What right did you have to be writing to her anyway? You lost your chance the moment you let her go.</p><p><br/>You stash the parchment. Cap the inkwells. Hide the quill. You close the room of your study, your hand lingering on the doorknob too long. You wonder if this is what she felt that night when she left for good.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes your father no less than a week to start arranging marriage contracts with the other Pureblood families. It takes the Greengrass family even lesser to secure the arrangement.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you believe in marriage, Draco?”<br/><br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is sunny outside the café you both frequent and the warmth feels heavenly on your limbs. You sip your black coffee with the finesse of your many years of etiquette training, place it slowly and quietly back on the saucer as you study the woman across you.</em>
</p><p><em><br/></em> <em>You hum noncommittally.<br/><br/></em></p><p>
  <em>“I suppose it’s different for you with your upbringing and all. But gods, my parents’ marriage? I would sell my soul to have that kind of connection with someone.” She sighs almost reverently. "Would it be too much to ask for, you think? To meet a person whose soul could breathe life into yours?"</em>
</p><p><em> <br/></em>You wonder what Hermione would think of you if she could see you now. She’d probably try to make light of it, laugh at the absurdness of your wedding robes, or make some weirdly dramatic comment about your perfectly coiffed hair.<br/><br/></p><p><em>“I can definitely understand why you’re so fond of the peacocks in your home—you posture like one,” </em>you imagine she’d say. You’ll probably make a stupid retort about the state of the monstrosity on her head. She’d roll her eyes and say teasingly, <em>“I bet you’d be reincarnated as one too, Draco.”</em> And then she’d snort and giggle and you’ll stare like you always do. Because nothing will ever prepare you for the sense of belongingness that comes with witnessing such an event. You finally understand why Potter and Weasley decided to stay and stand by her all these years. Being in her presence felt like a privilege.</p><p><br/>You really wish the thought of her didn’t enter your mind at the most ill-timed of moments.<br/><br/></p><p>Here you were, waiting for your pretty wife-to-be, by the altar. And all you could think about was the woman who was but a ghost now.<br/><br/></p><p>The wedding march starts and Astoria Greengrass, soon to be Astoria Malfoy, walks down the aisle. She looks impeccable, as per her usual. She glided like royalty, befitting that of the next Lady of the house.</p><p><br/>But whereas Astoria had a clinical sense of perfection to her, Hermione was different in the way she existed in this world. You wonder what the scene before you might have looked like if <em>she </em>was the one walking down the aisle instead. You’d imagine she’d look alive—burning so, so bright.</p><p><br/>She’d be the most beautiful bride you’d ever seen.<br/><br/></p><p>She will certainly put the sun to shame, you surmise. And the image gets you through the dullness of the ceremony.<br/><br/></p><p>
  <em>“I do.”<br/></em>
</p><p> </p><p>Your voice does not waver but the two words feel like a death sentence.</p>
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